Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity
and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
~Max Ehrman, Desiderata
To my friends here of all shapes, sizes, dispositions, ages, upbringings, careers… our differences are many, and yet, for the time being, we all share this very real, mysterious human existence. May you and your loved ones be well.
I woke up sad today. It’s okay, I’m fine. Who knows how I’ll feel by the time I send, and you receive, this email. In a way, that’s the beauty of things.
To me, it’s very human to be sad, and part of being human is doing our best to feel it, heal it, and do something about it so we can be happy and enjoy our brief time here.
Something that helped this morning was reading two stories1:
The first story involved a man who was given 24 hours to live. He leaves the doctor’s office and goes about “normal” life - he drops his daughter off at school without saying to her how much she means to him.
After being stuck in a traffic jam, he gets to work and gets dragged into a long meeting haggling over the petty details of the most recent business deal.
All day he’d been burning to profess his feelings to an old flame. He goes to the pharmacy where she works to tell her. Yet, when he approaches her at the counter with the aspirin for his fake headache, he panics, pays for the aspirin, and walks out without telling her how he feels.
When he gets home, his daughter is with friends, so he grabs some of their cake, goes to his room, takes a shower, goes to bed, and passes away.
The second story is of a women who is diagnosed with a brain tumor and given three weeks to live - she quits work, takes her savings out of the bank, and goes on a trip to see the world and enjoy every drop of life before passing away.
The end result is the same; the time in-between is different.
My first thought is, Shit, I’m not ready to die. What would everyone think of me if I’m like the first man - sad, afraid to tell my loved ones how I feel, stuck in my version of the rat race. What if I’m scared and act like a cry baby and throw myself the most epic pity party.
And the second thought is, Wow, what a courageous thing to be unafraid of death. To see it, know without a doubt that it’s coming, and use that as fuel to live my days with courage, honesty, and generosity. Can I be true to myself while also having compassion for others.
Can I live with urgency; and also slow down to take it all in.
This is not enjoyment for enjoyment’s sake - we have obligations to others and the world. But we also have an obligation to ourselves, and that, I’m arguing, is priority numero uno - waking up to who we are so we can live authentically and love well.
Can an awareness of death remind us:
- not to try to carry the world on our shoulders.
- that we need not try save the world.
- to let go of the self-image we try desperately to maintain.
- to live our own lives, and let others live theirs.
Love,
~M
p.s. I’m listening to a book about regenerative agriculture titled “A Bold Return to Giving a Damn: One Farm, Six Generations, and the Future of Food.” by Will Harris, a self-described hard-headed, backwoods Georgian with a don’t give a damn attitude. The book is narrated by him, too, which is fun.
The book is devastating in some ways. It’s thought-provoking and inspiring too.
Mr. Harris talks with honesty about how multi-national corporations run our food industry. How they made agriculture a race to the bottom in terms of animal health, soil and climate health, and your health. Efficiency and technology and pharmaceutical remedies over quality, and profit for a few.
And how Will, in the 1990s, without a desire to save the world, merely an observer of nature, decided he didn’t want to participate anymore and went back to the roots - his, his kids, his grandkids, his community, the animals he husbands from calf to slaughter, and the land he lives on… and by doing that became a happier man, and saw real results.
p.p.s. A beautiful song. Enjoy!
The inspiration for this content is from Zen Meditation: for life and death, Christians and therapists by Ama Samy - born 1936, zen teacher, Jesuit priest; from India. Not that he’ll read this, but thanks Ama! Loving your book.
What does it mean to be true to oneself if “oneself” is always changing?